


Opening Up

by theepitomeofamess



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Mentions of Anxiety, References to Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, emotional outlet, light cursing, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-11-29 12:30:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18223175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theepitomeofamess/pseuds/theepitomeofamess
Summary: Logan's at his university's counseling center for the first time. He doesn't remember walking there, but if he's to avoid a $25 no-show fee, it's too late to leave like nothing happened.





	Opening Up

“Hi, do you guys have any walk-ins available?”

“Yeah, but I’ll warn you,” the receptionist turned to a drawer full of clipboards, pulling one out, “there are three people waiting ahead of you.”

“That’s fine. Thank you.” Logan smiled as he took the clipboard, finding a seat in the small waiting room. A barrier stood between the main waiting area and a strip of computers against the wall meant for student sign-ins, but he didn’t know that yet. He’d never done this before. Seeing two chairs situated adjacent to the computers, nestled between the partial wall and an end table with a lamp and pamphlets adorning it, Logan decided it was best to keep himself away from prying eyes. Of course, sitting with the majority of other patients would probably draw less of a gaze, the barrier made him feel safer nonetheless.

He’d wandered in at maybe twelve thirty, just after his second class of the day. He’d been on his way to his dorm to work on the homework for his next class, but he must have taken a wrong turn somewhere. He found himself asking directions to the counseling center from the receptionist downstairs instead of hoping to avoid an interaction with one of his more conversational suitemates. He’d always known where the health center was - he’d made a point of memorizing where it was in relation to his dorm and each of his classes every semester, just in case he got unreasonably sick - but he never thought that he’d go there. Or if he did, he would stay on the first floor. 

He thought about leaving more than once. How hard would that be? Just walk out and pretend like nothing had happened. His dorm wasn’t far. Why couldn’t he just leave?

He would have left if there wasn’t a twenty-five dollar no-show fee. He just couldn’t afford that. Not right then. 

It was one ten when a soft voice called his name from the space leading back into the hallway of offices. Quicker than he’d expected. There had been plenty of time for his hands to stop shaking, his stomach to stop churning, his shoulders to unwind. Somehow, though, they kept going.

The man was young, probably one of the graduate students that the center had working in order to prepare them practically. He wore a pastel pink button-down under a light brown cardigan, had round-framed glasses, and carried himself with a posture that on anybody else would have come off as cocky, but on him only radiated welcome. 

“We’re gonna come right in here,” he gestured to a room, and Logan entered. “If you would take a seat.” Logan did. “My name’s Emile. I want you to know that I am a graduate trainee. These sessions are recorded, and if you would please sign this consent form so that we know that you’re okay with working with a graduate trainee. If you’re not, then you will be transferred to another professional for your following appointments.” Emile held another clipboard with forms to Logan.

At any other moment, Logan would have laughed at the thought of another appointment. He couldn’t bring himself to laugh. He just nodded and signed the form, consenting to working with Emile despite his lack of experience. 

“Thank you,” Emile took back the clipboard. “So, why don’t you tell me what brought you in today?” 

“I-” Logan cleared his throat, forcing his vocal chords to work. “I need to get screened for depression.” The words still came out as a croak. Emile scribbled something on his clipboard.

“Can you tell me why that is?” Logan looked at the foot of the chair Emile was sitting on. He could feel his throat protesting the thought of speech. He hoped that the brim of his hat he’d worn to keep the rain off his glasses was also working to hide the reddening in his face.

“Do you know the site 7 Cups?”

“Yeah.” 

“Well, I talked to two listeners on there, and they both said the same thing. It was effectively, ‘yes, you have depression, seek help.’” He could still remember the exact words of one of the listeners, username GreenTeaInsomniac533: “Honey, that’s depression, please talk to someone.”

“And why do you think they said that? I mean, what did you tell them that made them think that?” 

“I…” Logan cleared his throat again, determined not to let himself go. Emile didn’t deserve that. Emile was a stranger, just trying to help. Emile didn’t deserve to see him fall apart. “It’s just this… lack… of anything? I’m sorry, I’m not good at explaining things.” Logan lowered his head further, his elbows on his knees and his back hunched. “And I’m always tired - like, in my head, I know that I’m not tired, but then my head and body are so heavy and just screaming ‘Sleeeeeep.’ And… and I’ve started skipping classes in order to just get five more minutes in bed, and my grades are going down because I can’t get up the energy to do work outside of class and…” Logan should have stopped himself there. “And there is a history of mental illness in my family. It’s mainly anxiety, but that and depression tend to go hand-in-hand.”

“Did you come here on their recommendation,” Emile asked after waiting for further explanation, his light scribbling turning frenzied before calming again. 

“God, no,” Logan scoffed, finally picking his head up. The look that it got from Emile begged for an explanation that would satisfy him. “Here’s the thing.” Another clear of the throat, another internal plea to not break down. “For so long, I have seemed to be the only somewhat mentally stable person in my family. Like I said, they all have issues of their own, and they’re pretty major. My friends have those kinds of issues, too. Panic attacks, family issues, depression, you name it I probably know somebody who’s got it. I’ve been the only one that nobody’s had to worry about, the only one-” Logan cursed to himself as his voice shattered and a tear fell behind his glasses. “I’m the only one that’s been consistently stable and- and if I’m not… if I’m not stable, then…”

“You feel like if you’re not there to be stable, then everyone will fall apart.” Logan could only nod, taking off his glasses and pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes, praying that that would stop the crying. “There are tissues next to you if you need them.” Chancing a glance up, Logan took a Kleenex from the box. “That’s a lot to carry on your own.”

“And it’s so hypocritical,” Logan laughed, putting his glasses back on even though he was still actively crying. “I’m the rant receiver for all of my friends and family, and every time they start to apologize for venting to me, I tell them ‘It’s fine. You shouldn’t have to carry all that on your own.’” Logan hated the way his voice kept breaking, refusing to sound normal, but he couldn’t just sit there and cry until it was over, because then he would have to start talking again and it would start over. “I’m- I’m sorry, I don’t… I never do this, I don’t…”

“Never do what?” 

“Just,” Logan gestured out with his arms, his hands focusing near his face, “this. It’s just… the fact that I’m admitting this, admitting that I can’t… that I need help, it’s just…”

“Yeah, it’s very overwhelming.” Emile’s voice was hypnotic to say the least, comforting and warm enough to the point that it could be called a sleeping draught. “ And it’s a lot easier to be nice to other people than to be nice to ourselves.”

“Hell of a lot easier,” Logan muttered, leaning back on the couch and crossing his legs so his ankle rested on his knee. 

“Can I ask, just to get more of a gauge, about your past thoughts of suicide?” Logan took a deep, trembling breath. 

“Define suicidal thoughts.” Emile nodded, writing something down. “Because I don’t actively contemplate killing myself, it just sort of happens. It’s like, those intrusive thoughts where your brain is like ‘You should walk out into traffic and get hit by a car’ and you just think ‘no, why the fuck would I’- I’m sorry, I don’t know how cursing works with the recording, I’m sorry.”

“No, no, you’re fine.” Emile waved his hand, assuring Logan that he was fine.

Logan calmed down eventually. A few more questions and he found himself with a steady voice and relatively dry eyes. He kept his hat low over his eyes, but he knew that Emile could see him, even if he was shadowed. He answered all of Emile’s questions as well as he could given that he couldn’t feel himself thinking. Questions about substance abuse, self-harm, how he’d been dealing with these feelings up to this point (he hadn’t) and who his support system was. For that last question, he wanted to list off his closest friends, the ones that he knew wanted the best for him because they wouldn’t let him forget it, but since none of them knew he couldn’t list any of them. So he said no one.

“I just want you to know,” Emile brought up as the session came to a close, “that you should really be proud of yourself for coming in. It takes a lot of strength to admit to needing help, especially when you’ve gotten so used to carrying yourself and others for so long. I know that this was overwhelming, but I am so proud of you for coming in, and I really hope that you’re proud of yourself.” 

Logan was too exhausted to do anything but smile, and the session was coming to a close so he couldn’t bring up how he wasn’t proud and how the positivity didn’t help, however gentle it was. He got positivity in massive doses every day from staying on the right end of Tumblr, and that never helped either. If anything, it made it worse. 

“Here’s some information on the events we have going on here. My personal favorite is Thursdays when we have a session of using art as an outlet - a different kind of art pretty much every week, if we can manage it. And,” he took a business card off the end table, writing something on the back of it, “if you’ll take this to the front desk we’ll get you set up for your next appointment.” 

Logan felt his brain protesting against the thought of a ‘next appointment.’ He didn’t need a next appointment. He’d hardly needed this walk-in. He was wasting this poor guy’s time, probably not doing anything to help his graduate work. This poor guy with the reassuring smile, voice gentler than any he’d ever heard, and lively eyes that glowed with a wish to make at least one person’s day a little better. This poor guy that didn’t think Logan was wasting his time.

“Okay, your next appointment is in two weeks,” the receptionist wrote a date on the card, “and either nine-thirty or eleven-thirty.”

“Nine thirty,” Logan agreed. The receptionist finished putting in the appointment and handed Logan back the card through the window. Logan thought that he heard someone say his name behind him, but he ignored it. “Thank you. Have a good day.” Just as he was turning away to leave, Logan felt a hand on his shoulder.

“L?” 

Logan turned around on instinct, but wished he hadn’t. Now Virgil could see his puffy eyes, his reddened cheeks. That would have been bad enough, but the unadulterated worry pouring from Virgil was enough to make Logan want to break down again. He wouldn’t - he didn’t have it in him to do that again - but he couldn’t stand the concern, the stress for him. Logan bowed his head, the brim of his hat preventing him from seeing Virgil, Virgil from seeing him.

“Please don’t tell anyone.” The words were just barely loud enough for Virgil to catch.

“Virgil?” An older counselor - probably one of the actual professionals - stepped out with a file in hand.

“Just a second, Joan,” Virgil smiled over his shoulder before turning back to Logan, leaning down just enough to see Logan’s face under the brim of his hat. “I promise I won’t tell anyone. If you go back to my place and I meet you there after this, will you tell me anything about it?” Virgil knew Logan already had a key to his apartment - he’d given one to each of his friends just in case they needed a safe space or he needed them and wouldn’t let them in.

“I can’t make any promises,” Logan finally muttered.

“That’s okay. Will you at least go back to my place?” Logan nodded. “Great. I’ll meet you there.” Before turning to his counselor, Virgil wrapped his arms around Logan, squeezing him around the shoulders. 

Logan was bigger than Virgil - both taller and broader - but in that moment he felt so small, he was curled so far in on himself that he couldn’t tell that he was the bigger one. He felt even smaller by the face that Virgil still rarely hugged anyone. The only one Logan had ever seen him hug was Patton, and that was because Patton always initiated. Logan allowed himself a deep breath, deflating into Virgil for a moment before they separated.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can, okay?” Virgil smiled gently at Logan, reassurance radiating from his features. 

Logan nodded in response to Virgil’s promise. Turning over his shoulder, Logan assumed that Virgil had done the same. He didn’t know that Virgil had watched him out the door before going back with Joan. He was too tired to think, had too much of a headache to wonder. He just wandered to the elevator, keeping his shoulders back as best he could so that if he ran into somebody else on the way to Virgil’s apartment, they wouldn’t be suspicious. At least, not as long as they didn’t look at his face.

Virgil asked Joan if they could cut their session shorter than usual. Joan accepted, however reluctantly, letting Virgil go a quarter of an hour earlier than they would have otherwise liked. Virgil got back to his apartment as quickly as he could. He hadn’t been able to get the image of Logan’s face out of his head. Puffy, red-rimmed eyes, flushed cheeks, crumpled in on himself, horrified and desperate. He could still hear Logan practically begging - something that had impossible to imagine Logan doing up until this moment - for him to not tell anyone. 

He wasn’t sure what he expected when he got back to his apartment. Maybe he’d expected an immediate explanation, for Logan to have been pacing the entire time he was there just waiting to give Virgil a reason he was there that would ease his nerves. Maybe he’d expected Logan to be sitting at the table with his laptop open, distracting himself with homework or projects or something. Maybe he’d expected a note on the coffee table, telling Virgil that he needed coffee and he went out to get some and would be right back.

Whatever he’d been expecting, it hadn’t been Logan completely unconscious, crashed on his couch. 

Of course, that shouldn’t have been surprising. From the looks of it, Logan had been through an emotional ordeal, something that Logan - to say the least - wasn’t used to. 

Sighing to himself, Virgil pulled a blanket from the lounger on the other side of the room and tucked it over Logan. He took the skewed glasses from Logan’s face so they wouldn’t bend, folding them and setting them on the coffee table. He noticed how messy Logan’s hair was when he took his glasses off. Messy and filthy, like he hadn’t taken the chance to wash it in days, maybe a week. Virgil swallowed against the thought - Logan, who always preached self-care and basic hygiene, not washing his hair for days. Virgil pulled the blanket further up to Logan’s shoulders. Logan was so out that he didn’t react to the changes. Virgil wasn’t about to change that. He wasn’t about to wake Logan up. 

Going to his table where he has his drawing pad was still set up from last night - this morning? - Virgil sat down and set to work. Drawing always helped time go by faster for him, and hopefully he could be productive in some capacity while Logan recovered. 

He didn’t know what he was drawing until he’d drawn it. A robot - gears and screws and metal and all - with its head bowed. A shadow fell over its face, but that didn’t hide the human eyes welled with tears, bloodshot, the streaks down its face revealing skin underneath the metal. Its mouth was contorted in a shape it wasn’t meant to take, cracking the metal around it to reveal more skin, its human teeth gritted. He was hugging himself, hands holding the metal plating on his arms in place while they tried to peel away, to reveal the trembling self underneath. Virgil labelled the file “Please don’t tell anyone” and he almost hated himself for it.

Virgil had just finished making himself a pot of coffee when he saw Logan sit up on the couch. He looked around, confused by the blanket that he hadn’t put over himself and the glasses that he hadn’t taken off. It was only after he put on his glasses that he recognized Virgil in the kitchen.

“You want some,” Virgil offered, pouring sugar into his coffee as he watched Logan stand and stretch from the couch.

“No, thank you.” Picking up the blanket, Logan folded it how he knew Virgil liked it. “I should get going. Thank you for letting me crash for a bit, but-”

“L,” Virgil stopped him. “I’m not going to make you tell me what happened. I’m not going to make you stay here. But I don’t want you do be alone right now. And I don’t think that you want to be alone.” Logan bit the inside of his cheek, lowering his eyes to avoid feeling Virgil’s - concern? Caring? Whatever it was - full force. 

“In that case,” Logan muttered, setting the folded blanket on the couch and strolling to the kitchen, “I guess a cup wouldn’t hurt.” Virgil offered a smile, getting down a mug for Logan. It was his favorite, the one that he always used, the one that said “I have the vocabulary of a well-educated sailor” on the side. 

Logan did end up telling Virgil some of why he’d gone to the counseling center, but not before he made him swear not to tell anyone, especially not Patton or Roman. They would never look at him the same way. Patton would end up thinking that he had to tread lightly until Logan proved to him otherwise, and Roman… well, as far as Logan could tell, Roman would never let him live it down. It would come up in every argument, every pointless spat. He was sure of it. 

He didn’t cry again. Maybe because he didn’t go nearly as deep, or maybe because he’d already cried himself into a stupor, or maybe it was because Virgil was probably his best friend and as much as a stranger like Emile didn’t deserve to deal with a sobbing mess, Virgil deserved it even less. Maybe it was the coffee and the familiarity of the space. Maybe it was the calming effect that Virgil managed to have on him - as much as Emile’s was comforting and opening, Virgil’s energy made it where Logan didn’t shake with every thought.

“I’m sorry,” he finally concluded. “I don’t want you to have to carry this with you. Just forget I-”

“Logan,” Virgil set a hand on Logan’s shoulder. “Do you remember what you did when you figured out about my anxiety and I tried to tell you to not worry about it? You kept being the stubborn jackass you are and learned everything you could about what sets me off, what to do if I have an attack, everything. You sat with me through I don’t know how many attacks, and you full on screamed at that teacher junior year for trying to make me present while I was having a panic attack.” Logan chuckled at the memory, coaxing a matching smile from Virgil. “You got suspended for that, and you didn’t care because, y’know what? You care about me. And y’know what? I care about you. So if I have to scream someone down for you, I will. I’m here for you no matter what, bud. Whether you like it or not. And I know that that doesn’t feel right right now, I know that it probably doesn’t help. I know that you’re probably thinking that you don’t want to be a burden. You’re not. I can promise you that. You’ve been here for me for years. If you think I haven’t been ready to do the same for you since we met, you’re dumber than I thought.” Virgil heard the huff of a smile before he felt Logan lean to the side, laying his head against Virgil’s. 

“Thanks.” The word came out with more breath than voice. There was so much relief that Virgil wanted to apologize for ever making Logan think that he would be anything but supportive of him. 

They didn’t move for a while. Virgil heard his phone binging and knew that it would be Patton or Roman or both. They were probably on their way over. After all, it was Friday night. Netflix and pizza night. Logan was in the bathroom washing his face when they arrived. 

“Woah, Virge,” Roman gasped. Virgil looked up from the Domino’s app to find Roman gawking at his laptop.  _ Shit. _ “This is beautiful. When’d you do that?”

“Last night,” Virgil lied. Patton stepped behind Roman, his jaw dropping at the sight of the drawing.

“Kiddo, that’s amazing!”

“Thanks, guys.” Virgil saved the file again before closing it and his laptop.

“Is it an original character, or something?”

“Yeah.” Leave it to Patton to come up with an explanation Virgil could latch on to. “Haven’t fleshed him out completely, though. That’s my first one of him.”

“Well, let me know as soon as you have more,” Roman requested. “I might need to use that for some writing inspiration.”

“Will do. That is, assuming I don’t abandon him like every other one.” Roman chuckled and the conversation dissipated into Logan asking what they wanted to watch this time. Roman reminded them that the new season of Queer Eye was up, so it was a pretty easy choice. 

The night went on as easily as ever. Logan had pulled a complete one-eighty from his state earlier that afternoon. He was bickering with Roman, smiling reluctantly at Patton’s jokes, excusing his still puffy eyes as pulling another late night, putting on a perfect act as though he hadn’t completely fallen apart mere hours earlier. Virgil could relate, but he couldn’t quite understand it. Everything was normal, from the way he took the pepperonis off his pizza to give Patton to the way he only replied with “I’m gay” when Roman asked him why he was sitting on the floor, back pressed to the front of the lounger where Virgil was curled up, when there was plenty of space for him on the couch where Roman and Patton were. 

Virgil kept an extra close eye on Logan, though not in any way obvious enough for anybody to really take notice. He watched his patterns, trying to piece together his everyday mannerisms with the collapse earlier. He told himself that Logan probably felt like he was just going through the motions. He watched how Roman teased him, only for him to tease back in a way that suddenly sounded half-hearted. He didn’t envy Patton and Roman’s ignorance. Even though it might’ve been easier to be in their shoes, still completely clueless to what was happening with Logan, it wouldn’t have been better for him. He was so glad he knew. So glad that he could understand a bit more why Logan fell asleep again, the side of his face pressed against the leg Virgil let dangle from the lounger, his nose just against Virgil’s knee. 

“Must’ve been more than one all-nighter,” Patton theorized through a marble cookie brownie. Virgil nodded in agreement, not taking his eyes off Logan. For the second time that afternoon, Virgil took Logan’s glasses from his face so they wouldn’t bend. Absentmindedly, Virgil tucked his fingers into Logan’s hair, running the strands between his fingers. He was the only one that heard the soft sound of contentment in Logan’s throat, the only one that felt Logan press his face closer into Virgil’s leg. Virgil couldn’t decide whether his heart was breaking or living, but it was doing something.

None of them moved. None of them ever moved. They all fell asleep in their spots, Patton and Roman tangled together on the couch, Virgil a perfect ball in the lounger except for the leg Logan was using as a pillow. Nobody got up until around eight-thirty, when Roman and Patton both stirred. They got up to get Starbucks for all four of them, but not before Roman got a picture of Virgil and Logan, adding the picture in an album called “Proof that these two idiots are in love.”

By the time they got back, Logan was up and moving. They found him cleaning the coffee pot of yesterday’s contents, having already put the leftover pizza and cookie brownies in Ziplocks and in the fridge. Virgil was still curled up in the chair. Patton smiled at the sight. 

“You’re real determined to take care of him, huh,” he asked Logan in a whisper. Logan only smiled, grabbing a cloth to dry the coffee pot. He had no intention of telling Patton that compared to how Virgil had taken care of him yesterday, a clean coffee pot was nothing. Not yet, anyway. 


End file.
